Reluctant Goddess: The Kleopatra Chronicles, #1

By J. Dharma Windham

Kleopatra lives in an age full of magic, when the Egyptian gods and demons still roamed the Earth and interacted with people. Her idyllic teenage life is devasted when her father, the Macedonian Pharaoh of Egypt, is driven from the throne, and she is forced to flee for her life. With only a single loyal sword-bearer, she escapes from an Alexandria in the throes of a bloody revolt and undertakes a perilous journey through a kingdom cracking apart at the seams.

As Kleopatra dodges assassins and demonic attack, her beloved Egypt is on the brink of collapse. Egypt awaits the rise of one who can reverse its foretold destruction and restore order, and the Egyptian gods have their hopeful eyes on young Kleopatra.

Bringing to life the actual historic events, people and places of ancient Egypt, J. Dharma Windham's Reluctant Goddess, Book 1 of The Kleopatra Chronicles, explodes with action, mystery, and intrigue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Novus Mundi Publishing
• Release date: Dec 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781961511248

Book preview

1

DIVINATION

It was dark in Alexander’s tomb. The glow coming from the great conqueror’s crystal sarcophagus barely reached the marble walls but it was enough to light up the faces of the three girls leaning on it. The youngest of the three, Kleopatra, held a silver pendulum over a small round tile decorated with intersecting lines on the coffin’s lid over the Macedonian’s shiny gold breastplate. The fourteen-year-old studied it with a look of great concentration on her high-cheek boned face, now mostly hidden by a fall of heavy blonde hair. It was utterly silent in the burial chamber except for the soft hiss of the bronze oil lamps burning in the bottom of the pedestal beneath the translucent coffin.

"Is this my ka’s guide?" Kleopatra watched the silver teardrop shaped pendulum drift across the round tile. The pendulum’s pointy tip followed one of the lines until it got to the word Yes. It hovered there a moment then swung back to the center.

What’s it saying? Tryphaena whispered from the other side of the coffin.

Kleopatra looked up, her slanting green eyes two warnings. "She doesn’t like being called it."

Sorry, Tryphaena said, instantly regretting her carelessness.

But how do you know? Berenike asked, snickering.

Must you always be so difficult? Tryphaena asked, turning and looking at her.

Berenike shrugged. What? I just asked a question. She drew her himation tighter around her shoulder. I don’t know why we have to do this here anyway. It’s creepy.

Kleopatra’s steeply arched blonde eyebrows drew together into a frown. Her older sisters could be so dense sometimes, especially when it came to hiera mageia, the sacred magic. How many times had she explained that her spirit guide preferred to be summoned here in the royal tomb?

"Put some more kyphi on the charcoals, and be silent or she will ignore us," she said, and backed it up with a meaningful look.

Tryphaena took a fat pinch from the alabaster jar sitting beside the tile, the oracle as Kleopatra called it, and dropped it in the small portable brazier they’d set up on the lid. Kleopatra had just gotten the kyphi, the same incense used in the native temples to honor the gods, that day from a shop in the Portico of the Perfume and Unguent Sellers, and it was still damp. It hissed on the crust of white and red charcoals then tendrils of smoke rose into the air. The room seemed to grow darker a moment then the light coming from the coffin shone on Kleopatra’s high forehead, on her arm resting on its lid, and on the pendulum. The oracle was a round, dark shadow against the glowing coffin lid.

Are you ready, Great One, to answer my questions? Kleopatra asked, solemnly.

The pendulum swung across to Yes.

"Will my eldest sister, Tryphaena, daughter of Ptolemy, basileos of the Two-Egypts, win the contest to be next year’s kanephore?"

Kleopatra bit the corner of her full-lipped mouth. One had to be very specific when talking to spirits. They had no concept of time or space, and the name Tryphaena was not rare, since parents often honored the royal family by naming their offspring after its members, so it was best to make it as easy for them as possible to give an answer.

Kleopatra knew her sister, Tryphaena, the eldest of the three of them at eighteen, wanted the prestigious priesthood more than anything, but their father had decided to hold a music and poetry contest in which girls from Alexandria’s wealthiest families would compete for that honor.

Please, Golden Aphrodite, make it so . . .

Smile upon Tryphaena and grant her wish . . .

She would make a fine sacred basket-bearer . . .

In her heightened state, Kleopatra watched the pendulum track along a line to the word Maybe.

Tryphaena’s face fell but she considerately held her tongue. Then it began to creep toward the word Yes. She made little clapping sounds with her hands. I may still have a chance, after all! she blurted out then put a hand over her mouth when she recalled Kleopatra’s admonition to be silent. Sorry, she whispered.

Now it was Berenike’s turn to have her question put to the oracle. Kleopatra drew a deep breath and waited for the pendulum to come to a standstill in the oracle’s center. "Will my sister, Berenike, second daughter of Ptolemy, basileos of the Two-Egypts, attain her heart’s true desire?" A mysterious question but Berenike had stubbornly refused to be more specific. That usually meant trouble for someone, but for whom? Kleopatra wondered. The pendulum swung to the word Yes at once.

Berenike’s sapphire eyes gleamed with greed. Yes!

Her sisters looked at her.

And now it was Kleopatra’s turn to ask her question. "Will I, Kleopatra, third daughter of Ptolemy, basileos of the Two-Egypts attain my heart’s desire and teach in the Mouseion when I grow up?" She watched the pendulum begin to swing on its long chain.

Please be merciful to your servant, Holy One!

When it stopped at the word No, Kleopatra’s heart plummeted.

Her oracle was rarely wrong.

She drew a heavy sigh. At least Tryphaena had a chance to realize her dream.

Berenike suddenly spoke up. Let’s ask one more!

Kleopatra shook her head. No!

Why not? the black-haired sixteen-year-old persisted.

We’re not supposed to, Kleopatra said baldly.

What is the matter? Is the great magician afraid? Berenike’s eyes issued a challenge her younger sister could not ignore despite her better judgment.

Kleopatra’s proud chin came up. All right then, just this once.

Berenike smiled. Ask your friend who will be queen of the Two-Egypts.

Tryphaena gave Berenike a sharp look. Berenike . . .

Kleopatra set the pendulum down. "Our sister will be basilissa, as you well know," she said at once. She would have no part in helping Berenike needle Tryphaena, her favorite sister and best friend. Berenike could be such a harpy, but Kleopatra held her tongue because there had been an uneasy truce between them ever since their papa, annoyed at last by their squabbling, had threatened to take a belt to their backsides. Before that, they often got into fist fights, and Kleopatra emerged victorious from few of them. Certainly, no crown of laurels had awaited her after their last fight—only a strong poultice for a black eye.

Berenike spread her arms. Of course she’ll be queen, so what’s the harm in asking?

Tryphaena nodded. Go ahead and humor her, Kleopatra.

Berenike leaned across the coffin. Just for laughs, ask about each of us.

Kleopatra took up the pendulum. Are you still there, Great One?

Yes, came the reply at once.

"Will Tryphaena, eldest daughter of Ptolemy, be basilissa of the Two-Egypts?"

The pendulum traversed the oracle and stopped at Yes.

Kleopatra smiled inside. Thank you, merciful Isis!

"Will, Berenike, second daughter of Ptolemy, be basilissa of the Two-Egypts?"

The pendulum rocked back and forth then settled on Yes.

Bang! The whole room shook. The girls jumped at the sharp metallic sound.

I am afraid, Kleopatra, Tryphaena cried.

What was that? Berenike asked, looking around the gloomy room. She called out, Hello? An echo off the deeply carved marble walls was the only answer she got. The girls looked at the heavy bronze door, but not a sliver of daylight marred its surface in its heavy cedar doorjambs.

Kleopatra shook her head. Nothing like that has ever happened before. Then she looked down and her eyes widened and her hands flew up to her mouth. In her haste she had dropped the pendulum and now it was whirling around the edge of the oracle.

All three girls turned and stared at it. Kleopatra whispered, Isis, Osiris and Horos, will you look at that! The heavy piece of metal was going faster and faster.

It’s your turn, Berenike reminded her from across the coffin lid.

Kleopatra knew it was a mistake, knew she should have scooped up the pendulum and oracle, put them in their black pouch, and ended the divination, but Berenike’s smirking face impelled her to tempt fate. "Will I, Kleopatra, third daughter of Ptolemy ever be basilissa of the Two-Egypts?" she asked in a quavering voice.

The pendulum became a blur as it raced along the edge of the tile. Three sets of eyes watched over mouths opened wide in shock. It stopped suddenly on Yes, the chain sticking straight up in the air as if held by some invisible hand. Then Alexander’s armor-clad fist slammed into the bottom of the heavy transparent lid.

The girls screamed and bolted for the door and burst into the bright clear summer sunlight like a bevy of startled pintails exploding from a papyrus swamp at the approach of beaters. But instead of nets waiting to ensnare them, the girls’ sword-bearers were there with concerned faces and swords drawn to defend their young royal charges against any and all harm. Berenike rounded on Kleopatra. You little ibis shit! I know trickery when I see it!

Kleopatra looked from Berenike to Tryphaena. As Isis lives in Philae, I swear I don’t know what happened. I am sure it was just a mistake, she stammered.

Of course, it is a mistake! Everyone knows I’m destined to rule . . . Berenike stopped, her pale face turning red.

Tryphaena looked at her. You were saying, sister? she said quietly.

Berenike recovered quickly. "I meant to say that everyone knows that you will be basilissa of the Two-Egypts and I am to rule Cyprus with our uncle. She jabbed a finger at Kleopatra. But you will be sent to Parthia to marry some stinking Persian where you’ll pinch off stinking Persian half breeds! So don’t get any ideas, or I’ll beat them out of you!" Berenike punctuated each word with a sharp jab into Kleopatra’s chest.

That’s enough, Berenike! Tryphaena grabbed her younger sister’s wrist.

Berenike glared at Kleopatra. She’d just better watch herself.

Tryphaena released her hold and Berenike stalked off. Hurry up, you blockheads, she shouted at her sword-bearers and the litter-bearers waiting patiently beside her litter. Berenike angrily waved away the soldier who tried to hand her into her litter and clambered inside, but not without a last glowering look at Kleopatra. The litter-bearers grabbed the litter’s poles, hoisted them onto their shoulders and trotted away with their unhappy cargo. Neither Kleopatra nor Tryphaena were sorry to see her go.

Tryphaena gave Kleopatra a sympathetic look. Are you all right, little sister?

One of these days I am going to beat her ass, Kleopatra said, shaking her head.

You’ve lost every time you’ve tried, Tryphaena smiled.

Kleopatra dipped her eyes to hide her embarrassment. What her eldest sister said was true. Tryphaena took one of Kleopatra’s hands in hers. Let me know if she bothers you, but I would stay out of her way for awhile. Kleopatra knew good advice when she heard it. She would avoid Berenike’s part of the palace or places where she went.

Tryphaena gave Kleopatra a sisterly hug. I want you to know that I don’t hold you responsible for what the oracle said, but I will be keeping an eye on our sister.

The fact that she said Berenike would be queen is proof enough that something wasn’t right. I should have never allowed her to goad me into asking more questions.

Tryphaena rolled her eyes. Berenike has always thought highly of herself—though only the gods know why—and I’d have done the same thing in your place.

Why is she always such a serpent’s egg? Kleopatra asked.

Tryphaena sighed. I think it is our mama’s death that changed her.

That was hard on all of us, Kleopatra said, glumly.

Death affects everyone differently. Tryphaena climbed into her litter which had been brought up. She stuck her head out and gave Kleopatra a warm smile. You stay out of trouble. Her litter was carried from the royal nekropolis escorted by a dozen soldiers.

✽✽✽

The Great Library looked out over Alexandria’s eastern harbor, a large marble building with long colonnades and deep porticos fanning out from a temple of the muses. It was Kleopatra’s favorite place in the city and where she spent the most time. The previous day’s misadventure with the oracle was still fresh in her mind when she went to see her tutor. With her lone sword-bearer following, she went down a covered marble colonnade connecting the Mouseion with an adjacent stately building, also in creamy white marble and limestone. The building, as befitting a place of learning and creativity, was dedicated to the Muses. It had been founded three hundred years earlier by the first Ptolemy on the advice of Demetrios of Phaleron.

Here, in thirteen great halls, whose ample walls were lined with spacious armaria, numbered and titled, were housed the thousands of manuscripts containing the accumulated intellectual wealth of the Greek people. Each of the Halls was assigned to a separate department of learning. Here was Kallimachos’ famous all-encompassing catalogue of Greek literature, the Pinakes. The halls were used by the scholars for general research, although there were smaller separate rooms for individuals or groups engaged in esoteric studies. It was a busy place and on any given day there were thousands of students. Typically, instruction took the form of masters reading from texts while students listened. And, as this was a distinctly Greek institution, disputation was an essential element for both faculty and students. Kleopatra thrived in its rarefied air like a well-tended rosebush in the royal gardens.

That was very foolish, Sosogines said, after hearing Kleopatra’s account of what happened in the tomb. Magic should never be used lightly, especially by initiates.

You speak the truth, Foster Father, she said, using the honorific accorded to royal tutors. I regretted it as soon as I did it.

As well you should, young lady. He nodded, satisfied. Good, then let’s go up to the roof and see if you pass the test. They left the hall and went along the portico to the stairs that would take them to the roof, Kleopatra’s sword-bearer following at a discreet distance. They got to the staircase and Kleopatra followed the elderly man up the steps. He talked as they climbed the stairs. You are meant for great things, Kleopatra, and that requires much knowledge. By learning all we can, the more useful we are to ourselves and others, and that makes us better able to serve the gods. Don’t waste your energies on frivolities or you’ll end up like Berenike pursuing pleasure and power for its own sake. The highest good is serving our fellow men and the gods in any way we can.

Kleopatra looked up at him with eyes the color of wet papyrus leaves and a smile that showed that she was being playful. Papa says that we are gods, and we are the ones people should serve and pay all manner of tribute and honor to.

Sosogines stopped and half turned and looked down at her, his eyes narrowing in his parchment toned face. What do you believe, Kleopatra?

She hesitated then said, Although my family is worshipped as such by our subjects, I do not think we are gods. Great Isis is Queen of Heaven and ruler of those who wander in the dark lands beyond the river in desolate Tartaros. In olden times, she ruled the Two-Egypts herself but she doesn’t dwell among mortals any more. Sometimes I see her wings flashing in the gray east when snake Apophis flees before her shining face and daylight returns to the world of men. She is far away, but she is very near as well.

Sosogines smiled at this from such a young girl. "The basileos is entitled to his opinion, of course, but note all the many fine temples he has built or restored in his kingdom. Come along now, we don’t have all day."

Not even half a day! Kleopatra quipped, as he turned and lead the way.

What a fine day it is, Sosogines exclaimed when they stepped out onto the broad flat tiled roof beneath a high clear sky unmarred by even a whisp of a cloud.

The birds are enjoying themselves, at any rate, Kleopatra said, with a ripple of laughter. And it was true, too. The sky was full of birds flying circles high overhead, or chasing each other among the masts of the freighters tied up alongside the quays. From here, high on the roof of the royal library, she could look down into Alexandria’s busy harbors.

Kleopatra’s eyes flickered over the Heptastadion, the causeway that connected the mainland to nearby Pharos Island. Even as she watched, a steady stream of wagons crawled along its wide boulevard laden with bulbous clay jars filled with kiki oil for the Great Lighthouse’s thirsty lantern. The tall building on Pharos Island’s northeastern tip loomed over the mouth of the Great Harbor. By day there was no need for the lantern because a massive mirror caught Helios’ nurturing rays and flashed them far out to sea so ships could find their way to the harbor of Happy Returns. Long lean warships lay in their covered ship-sheds not far from the warehouses where copies of books for sale abroad were stored. Freighters glided into the eastern harbor with their sails full-bellied and their decks crammed with passengers eager for their first glimpse of the fabled city. The traffic leaving the Great Harbor on the near side of the Heptastadion was even heavier, for Egypt’s exports far exceeded her imports. The Emporion, Alexandria’s seaside marketplace, sprawled by the busy waterfront, crowded with merchants selling goods from all over the world.

Kleopatra sighed heavily. The Roman barbarians will try to steal this from us one day. Only papa’s bribes have kept them away so far. A gloomy thought she quickly pushed aside as she nodded at her sword-bearer. The hulking soldier’s shadow fell over her when he came up with her small bronze box.

Thank you, Timoxenos, she said, and he moved off a little.

Kleopatra went over to a stone pedestal and placed the box on it and flipped open the lid emblazoned with a Macedonian star. She took out a small square of ebony wood with a hole drilled in it, and a metal rod. She inserted the rod into its wood base then positioned it on the pedestal.

I’m ready now. She smiled up at Sosogines, squinting against the brightness of the sky behind him. He walked around her science project, studying it with the gravity of one studying the latest groundbreaking experiment. That is very good work, young lady, but now we have to assure ourselves that the instrument is truly vertical.

He began to ask how she would accomplish that, but the words died in his throat as she took out a string weighted on one end with a silver coin bearing her father’s portrait on one side and an eagle on the other. It was an ugly coarse-grained lump of metal. Not lustrous silver like a coin from an earlier reign, but dull gray and struck off center so that the king’s nose skipped off the edge into infinity.

Kleopatra’s father had debased the kingdom’s coinage so much it had more lead in it than silver, and the artist that had cut the die hadn’t done him any favors, either. The portrait depicted a hook-nosed man with the low-brow profile of a rude barbarian, whereas the king was in fact a handsome Hellene of culture, if of somewhat dubious parentage being the bastard son of the ninth Ptolemy.

While Sosogines watched approvingly, Kleopatra peered at the plumb line and gnomon to see if they lined up. Her white byssus cloth himation slid off her shoulder revealing a slender pale arm with a stack of gold bangles decorated with scarab- and acorn-shaped bells. She gave the brass gnomon a tap until it lined up perfectly with the plumb line. Thank Great Isis for my allowances!

I’d say that your allowance has more to do with your father than with Isis, great as the Goddess is, of course. How did you know to use a plumb line?

My papa’s workers do the same thing when they check the uprightness of obelisks. You see, once the coin stops swinging, it always points straight down.

Sosogines stroked his goatee. Very observant of you, young lady. One can never go wrong with direct observation.

Kleopatra’s tutor was a diminutive, bandy-legged man who used beeswax to twist his snowy goatee into a sharp point. The young scientists at the Mouseion called him Old Beeswax—to his back. His commission by the king to be Kleopatra’s tutor raised him automatically to the rank of Kinsman of the Order of First Friends, an honorific dating back to the days of the fifth Ptolemy a century earlier. He was entitled to wear a purple gown, gold headband, and a gold eight-pointed star brooch.

Of course, all this meant resigning the directorship of the Great Library, but he was glad to be rid of the heavy tedium of library work. Just after being named prostates of the library three years ago, he concluded that accepting the job had been a huge mistake. Very little original work was done in there anymore. Instead, the scholars worked like sedulous apes on the same books, rarely seeking to create anything new and exciting, dissecting the same dusty scrolls containing boring derivatives or dissertations of the same old Homeric shit. Never anything new! Whole papyrus scrolls were dedicated to pronunciation of words in The Iliad. Pronunciation, the gods save us! Sosogines had suffered like a convict doomed to toil in the royal gold mines, pretending to be interested in the tasteless porridge being ladled out by the Great Library’s time-serving scholars. There wasn’t an original thought in any of their heads. All they ever did was pick at the scraps clinging to poor old Homer’s bones. Well, that may have been an exaggeration, Sosogines thought, guiltily. But his frustration had indeed been great. Then the gods had sent him Kleopatra and bored, jaded Sosogines had begun to see the world through her big eyes, and it once again seemed a wondrous place. How her face lit up when he taught her about the Golden Mean or PHI and how it was Thrice-Great Hermes’ design for all things in nature and in the heavens. Aside from all that, he now had plenty of free time to pursue his true passion: astronomy. Almost every night, with Kleopatra following closely behind, he coaxed his creaking stiff legs up the steep steps of the tall, square tower that Auletes had built for him on the wall overlooking Alexandria’s vast complex of lakeside wharves. Lake Mariut effectively separated the city from the Egyptian hinterland even as it accommodated the steady stream of freighter traffic pouring in from the Kanopic branch of the Nile. Far from any distracting oil-fed streetlamps, Sosogines and Kleopatra conducted their observations on all but the cloudiest nights. Sosogines was happy to have her with him and he did not want to think about her every going away. It was good to be a royal tutor, especially with such a willing pupil.

Apart from the prestige that came with the position, there was the joy of watching his talented young pupil grow into a true intellectual. He was fond of the slender, self-contained, young Greek girl with finely sculpted features; a straight, slightly upturned nose, rosebud mouth, and long, straight, gold hair that fell to the middle of her back like gleaming silk. Her startling eyes gazed out at the world with the unblinking stare of a watchful kitten. And, like the half-tame cats that freely roamed the temples of Egypt, she moved with a natural grace that some said she had inherited from her late mother. However, it was her blond hair and pale skin tinged with blue undertones that revealed her Macedonian and Greek descent. It was evident to all that the girl got her good looks and manners from her late mother. Her papa’s marriage to Kleopatra Tryphaena, a younger half-sister, had been arranged with a view to expediency rather than marital suitability, and it had been obvious to the whole court that they rubbed each other the wrong way. She found Auletes loud and uncouth. And Auletes would, too often, offend her sense of propriety by publicly playing his flute, by his loud easy laugh and by his backslapping familiarity with even the lowliest pike man guarding the palace. Sosogines had liked the woman well enough and had even been genuinely sad when she died under questionable circumstances that still had some tongues wagging. She had crossed the river Styx leaving behind three daughters and a toddler son. Sosogines didn’t have much use for the late queen’s two eldest daughters, and hadn’t had any contact with the boy, either. He didn’t envy the other royal tutors, who were obliged to teach the other royal children, or the suntrophi, the royal children’s aristocratic companions.

Kleopatra’s lilting voice brought him back to the present. "The tip of the shadow marks the end of a line that connects the shadow’s tip, the top of the gnomon and the sun." She watched the shadow crawl across the top of pedestal.

Sosogines’ eyes twinkled. That is exactly right, Kleopatra. Now, can you tell me how high the sun is relative to the horizon?

Just before the sun reached its zenith Kleopatra measured the shadow’s length, then she sat back on her heels and, using a sharp bronze kalamos, scratched her calculations on an ostrakon, a piece of broken pottery. When she was done she handed the pottery fragment to him.

Well done, Little Scholar! he smiled.

Kleopatra bowed her head. Thank you, Foster-Father.

He called me a scholar! Wait until I tell Tryphaena!

✽✽✽

I am sure there are worse things for a girl to be called but I can’t think of any. Tryphaena paced the room with a basket on her head. How do I look?

Like the Star Goddess rising at the start of the New Year! Kleopatra replied, a little hurt by her sister’s apparent blithe indifference to her good news. She had flown on winged feet to her sister’s chambers as soon as she had returned to the palace, her heart brimming with pride over her achievement.

Right now I’ll settle for looking like the next sacred basket-bearer. Tryphaena glided across the room, vanishing behind a big fern growing in a pot by a granite pillar. She re-appeared a moment later, arms at her side. This is harder than it looks.

It usually is, Kleopatra replied from the couch where she lay petting Tryphaena’s pet hare Lagos, named after the founder of their dynasty Ptolemy Lagos—a hugely amusing joke in Tryphaena’s mind, if not in the mind of their father.

Tryphaena swept the basket from her head, went over to Kleopatra, flounced on the edge of the couch and joined her in petting Lagos. Berenike ran right to Papa on her little cloven hooves and told him what happened in the Sema.

Kleopatra blanched. Zeus’ balls! she cried. What should I do? Her father most certainly would not be pleased to hear that she had used divination to inquire about the succession. Only he could decide who would succeed him after the gods took him up to their bosoms. To even ask such a question could be construed as treasonous. Kleopatra wondered if even now her father was preparing to banish her to some strange land for her crime. She tried to cut off the thought: fear and doubt was almost always fatal. One attracted what one feared most. Better to hope for the best. What a stupid thing for me to have done, she thought bitterly.

Tryphaena dismissed her fears with the wave of an elegant hand. Oh, don’t worry; I talked to him, too. He wasn’t upset at all. In fact, he said that the sooner Berenike is carted off to Cyprus the better off we’ll all be.

Kleopatra let out a long sigh of relief. So her eldest sister had, against all hope, turned aside their father’s legendary wrath. She dipped her head and said, Thank you, Tryphaena.

Tryphaena pulled out a silver hairpin, and her long hair, copper colored and perfectly straight, tumbled down past her slender shoulders. What are sisters for?

It’s hard to imagine Berenike married to our uncle, Kleopatra said, thinking that the day her bad tempered older sister sailed from Alexandria with her new husband would be a great day indeed.

It won’t be the first time a girl in our family has married an uncle, Tryphaena pointed out, or a brother, although that’s by far more common.

But our uncle is so nice and Berenike is…well, you know. Kleopatra smiled at Tryphaena. Like all the other girls in Alexandria, she admired her sister’s regal bearing, heart-shaped face and amber eyes. Only last year a Bactrian ambassador on a diplomatic mission to Egypt had gone mad with passion for her. Throughout Egypt she was famous for her lilting singing voice and skill on the lyre.

Kleopatra thought her the most beautiful girl in the kingdom, a view shared by many. Have you decided what you’ll wear for the competition? Kleopatra asked.

I’ll tell you if you promise to keep it a secret, Tryphaena said with the barest trace of a smile.

Who would I tell? Kleopatra asked, one gull-wing-like eyebrow soaring.

Stratonike for one, Tryphaena laughed. Kleopatra nodded. Stratonike is a good friend but she is the worst of gossips, so I am careful about what I tell her. Don’t worry, sister, your secret is safe with me.

Tryphaena turned to a slave dusting the furniture in the room. Senmonthis, bring me my new gown.

Yes, Mistress. The old woman left the room, her shoulders drooping.

Kleopatra shook her head. Poor Senmonthis seems so sad. It struck her how vulnerable the woman seemed. She had been with them as long as she could remember.

Tryphaena sighed. It’s that hellhound sister of ours. She’s very hard on her.

The elderly slave returned a moment later with the gown draped in her arms.

How lovely this is! Kleopatra cried. I can’t even tell what the material is. Kleopatra touched the nearly transparent fabric with reverent fingers.

It’s silk from China. See how some of the panels are embroidered with ivy vines? Tryphaena glowed with pride over the fine garment.

You’ll be the envy of everyone! Kleopatra said, breathlessly.

It cost me ten talents of good gold, Tryphaena said, smoothing the filmy material. She gave the dress to Senmonthis who took it from the room. Tryphaena turned to Kleopatra and said in a wistful voice. I don’t know what I’ll do after you’re gone.

Kleopatra gave a little start at her words. I’ll never leave, she replied with rather more confidence than she felt with her oracle’s pronouncement still fresh in her mind.

Tryphaena touched Kleopatra’s chin and turned her so that Kleopatra looked into her eyes. You’ll have to someday, she said with her red glossed lips. You’ll be sent to Parthia, Bactria, or Mauritania, where you will marry and be a fine lady at the court of some foreign king, and you’ll forget about Alexandria and the Two-Egypts. Tryphaena looked at her shrewdly.

Kleopatra laughed. The idea was so absurd and adulthood so far away that nothing could shake her belief in a future as a teacher. "I won’t marry. I’m going to teach in the Great Library and be on hand to look things up for you when you are basilissa."

Golden One! Please don’t let me be sent away . . .

Kleopatra felt like tearing her hair out. She’d rather die than leave Alexandria.

All I’ve ever wanted is to teach in the Great Library, she said miserably.

Tryphaena bowed her head. "By all the gods, that is my desire, too, little sister, but until I am basilissa it’s up to papa." Tryphaena looked up and smiled at her, a loving smile, and Kleopatra felt better. Her sister’s eyes told her that she would do what she could to make sure Kleopatra wasn’t married to some foreign prince. They then spent the rest of the afternoon talking about cosmetics, the upcoming competition for the two high priesthoods, and clothes. But the possibility of Kleopatra being sent away to a strange land hovered over them like a black cloud.

✽✽✽

The next morning, as yellow beams of sunlight spilled through the cedar shutters in Kleopatra’s modest bedchamber, she was awakened by muffled screams. She sat up in bed blinking the sleep from her eyes, relieved to see Timoxenos at his usual place sitting on a stool by the door. No one in her family dared close his or her eyes without a sword-bearer watching over them; depending on the person’s rank, as many as a dozen.

Do you hear that? Kleopatra asked, looking over at Timoxenos.

He nodded and said one word. Berenike.

She pushed off the covers, skipped out of bed and walked across the room. Pressing her ear against the wall, she listened. She’s beating someone. Kleopatra moved a painting aside and pressed a switch. A section of the wall slid open. She stood at the mouth of the passageway listening. Someone was talking quickly in Egyptian-accented Greek—the voice plaintive, muted, and pleading. It was abruptly cut off by the dull thud of a blow. Kleopatra’s head whipped round over her shoulder and nodded at the lamp on the nightstand. Bring the lamp. She ducked through the opening.

Gathering up the hem of her chiton, she hurried down the secret passage, her sword-bearer hard on her heels. Around a corner, over a pile of leftover bricks and mortar left by long-dead workers, another turn and then she stood in the passageway behind Berenike’s suite and heard the dull thud of a blow followed by imploring groans.

Kleopatra puffed out her cheeks and blew out the lamp, removed the spy-hole’s plug then pressed her face against the wall.

As Isis lives in Philae! No!

Her eye flickered over the scene in Berenike’s suite, her stomach clenching into a hard knot. Her sister reclined on a dining couch eating breakfast while two whip-bearers plied their whips on a helpless victim. Berenike seemed to be enjoying the show, if the smile on her beautiful face was any indication. Long black hair framed a pale oval face with startling blue eyes and a full-lipped mouth that seemed to always be twisted in a smirk. Men eagerly followed her lush form with their eyes as she went about her business. But few dared to approach her. Berenike’s beauty was only surpassed by the ferocity and frequency of her tantrums. Battle-hardened soldiers quailed beneath the lash of her sharp tongue. A few had even been knocked down by her.

And now she was in a fury. Bad luck for someone, but whom?

Kleopatra heard Berenike’s icy voice. I said beat her, not tickle her! She leaped off the sofa and snatched a whip from one of the men and raised it high. This will teach you to be disobedient, you miserable dung beetle!

Mercy, Great One! moaned the woman, raising her arms to ward off the blows.

That gave Berenike pause. Mercy? she cried, her voice rising to a screech. Was it merciful of you to spoil my breakfast by serving me a blemished peach?

The whip came down hard and fast. It struck with a hard, frightening sound.

Berenike’s face was livid. I told you I don’t like blemished fruit!

Kleopatra winced at this. Beating a servant for bringing you a piece of fruit with a blemish on it? This was a new low for Berenike. I hate you like the plague, you pig. She immediately regretted that; after all, one of her honorific titles was Philadelphos: Sibling-Loving Goddess. Kleopatra pressed her eye against the wall to see who Berenike’s victim was. She briefly considered trying to widen the spyhole but dismissed it as a bad idea to be shunned, even in these circumstances. What if Berenike or one of her whip-bearers saw a finger wriggling from Aphrodite’s left eye on the mosaic wall? Kleopatra didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen. Her secret knowledge of the passageway had been a boon—very little happened in the vast sprawling palace without her knowing about it. When the first Ptolemy built this fabulous palace, he instructed his architect to provide it with a network of secret passageways. Both Phillip and Alexander, men he revered and loved, had been brought down by palace intrigues and he wasn’t about to have that happen to him. But within two or three generations after his peaceful passing, the passageways were forgotten—until Kleopatra discovered them.

One day she tried to remove an ugly painting of a baboon climbing through a window so she could replace it with a picture of her heroine, the great Egyptian queen Hatshepsut. While arranging the new picture, a section of the wall slid away suddenly. She tumbled backwards, landing on her bottom with a hard thud on the tile floor and stared in open-mouthed wonder at the portal. Timoxenos urged her not to venture into the maze, surely haunted by ghosts and evil daimons, if not assassins and venomous serpents. Heedless, she grabbed a lamp and darted headlong inside, followed by her exasperated guard. That was over a year ago. Now she was as familiar with the passageways as with the back of her hand. She had soon discovered the existence of other secret portals that opened into other rooms. Some of them had required a little oil and adjustment of the counterweights to make them work properly—and on one nerve-shredding occasion a portal had frozen half open in its tracks until a sweating Kleopatra and her sword-bearer got it moving again, after much shoving and cursing.

All I wanted was a peach! It’s not as if I asked for all the gold in Nubia! Berenike cried.

Kleopatra tried standing on tiptoe to get a better look. A shock passed through her when she realized who Berenike’s victim was. Senmonthis lay in a heap on the floor—not moving even when Berenike touched her body with a slippered foot. Kleopatra twisted her mouth, as if tasting something unpleasant. Why you stinky, cruel ball of dung!

Berenike stopped plying her whip then stood with her ample breasts heaving and her eyes blazing. Take this offal to the Akra and tell the warden to put her to death. Berenike dropped the whip and stalked back to her couch. The men picked up Senmonthis and carried her limp slack jawed body from the room. Berenike called after them. Have someone fetch me another peach, and it had better not have a blemish on it!

Kleopatra replaced the spyhole’s plug and turned to her sword-bearer then said in an urgent whisper. We don’t have much time.

✽✽✽

Lais, the Akra’s elderly jail warden, was unhappy at the pounding on his door. One dull boom after another rolled down the spiral stone stairs and along the prison’s limestone galleries lined with small doors, all locked, of course, since many of them housed the basileos’ enemies. Stop that god-cursed pounding! Lais shouted as he climbed the steps, pausing a moment to catch his breath with a hand on the iron railing.

More booms tolled down the stairs in somber tones. I’m coming! Hold your horses!

When he got to the top, Lais swung the heavy wooden lock bar up from its cradle then opened the door cursing the harsh glare of rarely seen sunlight. When his vision finally cleared, he saw an elegantly dressed man standing before him.

Lais, the warden? the stranger asked briskly.

Aye, that’s me. What do you want? Lais coughed violently and spat. The spittle landed between the man’s expensive red leather boots.

On any other occasion, Aegisthus would have slit the man’s throat for such an insult, but Tryphaena had told him to handle the matter with discretion, so he let it pass. It was harder to ignore Lais’ less-than-pleasant aroma and gap-toothed smirk.

I have come for the serving woman Senmonthis, Aegisthus announced.

Lais scratched his crotch through his stained tunic with a filthy hand then wiped his runny nose. I have orders to put her to death. Not that there’s much left to put to death. Princess Berenike was in rare form today. Lais laughed.

Aegisthus suddenly held up a fat brocaded pouch and waved it in front of Lais’ cauliflower nose. Then I guess you won’t be interested in this.

Eh, what’s that? Lais snatched at the pouch but Aegisthus was faster.

Do we have a deal? Aegisthus asked, dangling the pouch beyond Lais’ reach.

If that’s what I think it is, Lais replied, scratching his greasy beard.

See, you do know how to make a good decision, Aegisthus said, handing him the pouch.

Lais emptied it into a cupped hand and almost wet himself. Look at all them silver coins! At least a year’s wages in one sweet shiny pile! Lais grinned at Aegisthus. She’s as good as dead already. What’s it matter if she dies here or somewhere else?

Aegisthus smiled. You’re a philosopher and a gentleman. Now fetch the old woman before I put my foot up your ass.

✽✽✽

A short while later, Kleopatra dipped a sponge into a ceramic basin of warm water, wrung it out, then gently cleaned Senmonthis’ wounds. The elderly woman was lying on her stomach, her bruised and swollen lips moving as she mumbled in her sleep.

What’s she saying? Timoxenos asked.

Kleopatra bent down and put her ear close to the woman’s mouth. She’s speaking in Egyptian. Kleopatra frowned then went on. Something about Wedjoyet forgiving her offence … I can’t make out the rest; it’s garbled. Kleopatra sat up then went to work on the woman’s ruined back. Bloody welts crisscrossed it from top to bottom. If she survived, she would be scarred for life—her mind as well as her body. Kleopatra looked at Timoxenos standing guard at the door. Keep her quiet if she wakes.

He nodded. Will she recover?

I don’t know… hope so. She dropped the sponge in the basin, dried her hands on a towel in her lap then reached down and got the bronze box from the floor beside her feet and opened it. She chose a small jar from among the neatly labeled glass vials, beakers and alabaster tubes, and twisted off its cap. She scooped out some of the paste inside sniffing it to make sure it was still fresh then smoothed it on the wounds.

Kleopatra spoke as she worked. "This is megaleion ointment, a compound of balanos oil, burnt resin, myrrh, cassia and cinnamon."

That stuff you made a few weeks ago? They had been in the little overgrown courtyard near Kleopatra’s rooms. He had watched while she squatted before a pot hanging from an iron tripod over a small fire and stirred in carefully measured amounts of essential oils and herbs. He recalled that she had worked on it all day.

Kleopatra nodded. Sosogines gave me the recipe. It’s good for cuts and bruises.

I wondered what you were making, but you weren’t in a talkative mood.

Kleopatra’s cheeks flamed. I wasn’t feeling well— She stopped. She did not want to tell him that she had been so quiet because it had been the first day of her katamenia, and already the cramps that always came with it were making their first unwelcome appearance.

Timoxenos nodded his rough-hewn head. If Berenike finds out about this…

Kleopatra shrugged. She won’t. Tryphaena and I were careful to cover our tracks with lots of silver coins. After awhile she added. One day Berenike will pay for all the evil things she has done.

Some might say your elder sister was within her rights to punish a disobedient slave.

Kleopatra’s head came up and her eyes blazed with indignation. The strong are supposed to protect the weak, not abuse them. She reached for a roll of linen bandages and started dressing Senmonthis’ wounds. When the last linen bandage was tied, she sat back and looked at her sword-bearer. Now we have to wait. The rest is up to the gods.

Please, Golden One . . .

Spare this poor old woman’s life. . .

Kleopatra chewed a corner of her lip. She’d done the best she could. She had attended medical lectures at the Great Library—Sosogines had insisted on it—and even read a few medical books, but she was no doctor.

✽✽✽

It was dim in the room with only one lamp burning beside the bed. Senmonthis slept with a rich coverlet pulled up to her neck. When she woke, the first thing she saw was Kleopatra’s smiling face.

As Wedjoyet watches over Pharaoh, I am alive! she managed to get out through bruised lips.

And that’s a good thing too, Kleopatra said with a ripple of laughter.

Where am I? Senmonthis asked.

In my bedchamber, Kleopatra replied easily.

But Berenike . . . Senmonthis plucked nervously at her covers.

Kleopatra laid a calming hand on hers. . . . has no idea you are here, and my sword-bearer is guarding the door. You have been injured and need to rest. She felt Senmonthis’ forehead. It was hot and clammy which worried her but she didn’t show it.

But my princess . . . Senmonthis tried to sit up, but fell back on the pillow with a groan, defeated by a sheet of pain. How did I get here?

When I learned what happened to you, I went to Tryphaena and told her. She sent a friend to the Akra, who bribed the warden to release you. Then you were brought in secret to my rooms. Kleopatra saw no need to tell her exactly how she had found out.

Senmonthis stared at her. What will become of me now? she asked fearfully.

Kleopatra leaned forward and smoothed the woman’s hair back from her bruised face. When you are well enough to travel, I’ll take you to a safe place. That seemed as good a plan as any, and Senmonthis was in danger as long as she was in Alexandria.

Senmonthis closed her eyes. Why are you so kind to me? She clung to Kleopatra’s hand as if it was the last good thing in a bad world. Through the ringing in her ears she heard the reply.

Mercy is one of the four principles of religiosity.

Senmonthis smiled. And truthfulness, cleanliness, and austerity are the others.

That is exactly right, Senmonthis. Kleopatra had wanted to ask her how she knew about the four principles, but the old woman had fallen asleep.

✽✽✽

A few days later Kleopatra peaked through a gap in the curtains as her litter was carried swaying through Alexandria’s Moon Gate, her lithe young body swaying with the vehicle on its long poles, which rested on the shoulders of eight litter-bearers. The crowds thickened in the barrel-vaulted tunnel, piercing the city’s thick walls. Kleopatra glimpsed clusters of tables piled high with merchandise. They were in a long line of litters, sedan chairs, and wagons—all making their way through the tunnel to a tall blue portico; the entablature over its Corinthian columns was adorned with a big silver moon, and beyond that lay the coast-hugging road that would take a traveler all the way to Libya.

When Kleopatra saw the guards standing by the thick columns, she drew the curtains together and turned to Senmonthis. We’re almost through, she whispered.

The litter stopped and she heard her sword-bearer’s deep-toned voice.

This is princess Kleopatra’s litter.

We gotta search it anyway.

Not if you want to keep your head on your shoulders.

Kleopatra felt Senmonthis stiffen beside her. She slid an arm around her thin shoulder and said. Don’t worry, they always check litters and wagons in case someone is trying to smuggle out merchandise without paying taxes. They wouldn’t dare look in mine, though, so we’re safe. And Timoxenos can be a real ape when he has to be.

She smiled when the litter started moving forward again. See what I mean?

Senmonthis relaxed and nodded. Thank you, Mistress.

Kleopatra laughed. I am not your mistress anymore, Senmonthis. No one is, except maybe Aphrodite.

Huh, what do you mean…?

Kleopatra reached into her leather bag and withdrew a diptych, two wooden tablets tied together with papyrus string. Less common than scrolls of papyrus, diptychs were used for memoranda, accounts, drafts of literary compositions, and for many kinds of legal documents. Kleopatra had inscribed an emancipation order, forming each Greek letter with pen and ink. Since it was a legally binding document, she had written the order in duplicate—on the inside in wax, on the outside with pen and ink on the bare wood—then tied it and written her name on the seal. If Senmonthis’ status was challenged, the seals could be broken and the order compared to the writing inside. Kleopatra gave Senmonthis the precious document.

"When we Hellenes free a slave, we have only a few ways to do it. Usually it’s done after we have journeyed to Hades, with a testamentary disposition declaring the act before a notary public, who collects a fee for the king’s enkylion office. A bad idea in this instance, because the notary would have to make a public announcement, and Berenike would almost certainly find out you are still alive. But if your emancipation is consecrated to Aphrodite, we avoid such problems. What the Goddess does with her property is her business." Kleopatra grinned, pleased by her own cleverness.

You mean I am free? Senmonthis asked in surprise.

Have I not said so? Kleopatra asked, smiling into the woman’s scarred face.

I can hardly believe it. Tears started rolling down Senmonthis’ careworn cheeks.

Kleopatra looked embarrassed. It’s the least we can do after how you were treated.

They then rode in silence as the litter passed through the nekropolis, just outside the city’s wall. They passed by brightly painted tombs set among fruit trees and parkland.

The litter turned off the road and followed a small track along the top of an irrigation basin filled with a sea of green barley and headed south. By midday they were in the desert, with Alexandria’s cultivated fields and orchards far behind them.

Sometime later, the litter stopped